Slices of Life
by brynerose
Summary: Finally broke down and started a one-shot series. Just little vignettes of whatever comes to mind regarding Supernatural. Mostly fluff, and a lot of Sam-centric, it seems. Current: Teenchesters! Sometimes the worst things to happen aren't part of a hunt...Dean POV.
1. Lisa's Pie Shop

**A/N: I won't pretend that this fits seamlessly into canon, but it is based on a place called Lisa's Pie Shop, on IN 31 between Indianapolis and Kokomo. That's where I got the inspiration.**

Lisa's Pie Shop

The day was just like most of late—sunny, the warmth of an early spring in the air. The location, on the side of the highway between Indianapolis and Kokomo, was at once peaceful and a little lonely. But the remoteness helped the feeling of starting fresh.

She started by putting out the new creations from last night. Any pies that were down to a couple pieces got moved to clear to-go boxes. She swept stray crumbs out of the display. Two pies needed boxing for customer orders. And she realized the sink behind the counter was leaking again; hopefully Ben could take care of that when the carpool dropped him off after school.

Next came readying the coffee. She set the brewers running into self-serve urns, refilled the creamer and sweetener containers. Made a mental note that hot cups needed to be on the next supply list.

The soft bell on the door heralded the first customer of the day. Lisa hurriedly wiped her hands and greeted her guest with a smile. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"

"Um…hi. I'm still thinking," the young man stammered…dare she think it, _surprised_.

"Everything okay?" Lisa asked.

"Yeah. You just remind me of someone I once…knew…" He looked careworn for his age. Longish brown hair swept his face after the wind outside. Dark eyes were both tired and hyper-alert. His demeanor remained oddly shy. As Lisa watched him, she had a strange sense of déjà vu…

"Why don't I start you off with a coffee?" she offered.

"Two, actually. One for my friend in the car. Black is fine. And I think he'd want a slice of the coconut mocha espresso. That sounds like it goes well with coffee."

"Anything else for you?"

"I don't know. I'm not much of a dessert person, no offense." He put liberal amounts of creamer and sugar into one of the coffees while Lisa got the pie. He was still fidgety, though not rude or inappropriate toward her. Maybe he was just eager to reach his destination.

"Well, if you're looking for something more substantial, I've got a fresh 'Fruit Smoothie' pie. Finished it just fifteen minutes ago, still warm and everything. It's got fresh sliced strawberries, peaches, and bananas. No sugar added." She didn't know why, but something deep inside wanted to ease the young man's weariness. Somewhere under there, he must have a nice smile.

If anything, he looked even more flustered. "I, well…I'm not sure…um…"

Lisa pulled the pie in question out for him to see. Not to push him, just wanting somehow to lighten his dark mood. Indeed, his tough exterior seemed to finally be caving.

"Ah, what the hell. I'll try it. At least Dean'll have the pleasure of teasing me for picking the healthiest option possible," he quipped.

_Dean_. Why did that name strike such a flutter in Lisa's chest? She didn't recall being familiar, much less in love, with anyone by that name. Strange. She pushed the thought away, and packed up the young man's pie. He handed her the cash with a shy, "keep the change."

"Thank you, have a good day," she said cheerily.

There. The expression of happiness made an appearance at last. She was right; he _did_ have a great smile. He returned her farewell, exiting to a sleek black classic car where his friend must be getting impatient.

Moments like that were what she lived for—putting a little extra brightness in someone's day. Even if she didn't know them at all.


	2. Busy Hands, Busy Feet

**A/N: Just my take on what the early years of the Winchester boys might have typically looked like. Two things inspired me to write this: one, a visit to a camp I used to work for, and seeing my former boss's now-1yo son running around (I took care of him when he was itty bitty!), and the pure simplicity—and occasional headaches—of having young children. Two, later that night I rediscovered an album to which I fell asleep when I was little, hence the title. Michael Card's **_**Come to the Cradle**_** album, though still religious in undertone, was all about the joys of raising kids. I know, I'm a sentimental dork at times. So here we are; enjoy!**

"Waaahhaahhahhh!"

Dean scrunched his nose and rubbed his eyes. The room was still dark. "Sammy, why'd you have to wake me up?"

Sammy continued to squirm and cry, one sock flopping off his chubby foot. Then Dad appeared on the other side of the bed bars. He scrubbed at his stubbly face. Sammy immediately reached out to be picked up.

"What's up, Sammy? I bet you're hungry. Come on, let's find you some cereal," Dad's low voice rumbled. He lifted Sammy over the rail.

Dean scrambled out from under the covers and off the end of the bed. He was hungry too! They all headed for the little kitchenette area with the rickety table and chairs. He hopped into one chair while Dad grabbed the breakfast stuff, Sammy on his hip. Two bowls with milk, one small bowl without milk, and one sippie cup of milk. He also opened the curtains—sunlight poured in. Sammy stayed in Dad's lap as they ate. Dean picked through his cereal, saving all the marshmallows for last. He liked to see how many he could fit in his mouth at once.

"Dad, can we go to the playground?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Dean," Dad replied at first. One of Sammy's wet, cereal-clutching fists bopped him in the chin. "I suppose it's gotten warm enough. After we get some groceries and clean up the motel room, we can go to the playground."

"Yay!" cheered Dean. He almost knocked his bowl off the table.

"Careful, there."

"Sorry."

"Deedee!" squealed Sam, who dropped his handfuls of cereal for the sippie cup.

Dad put Sammy on his chair so he could put his bowl in the sink. "Watch your brother while I take my shower, okay? Help him finish his food and get dressed."

Dean nodded, mouth full of marshmallows. He watched the older man lumber into the bathroom with the shower bag. The sound of water started up. Sammy promptly wiggled out of the chair, babbling. "Sammy! Dad said stay put!"

"Dadadadadadada! Dee! Dee!" Sammy was over by their bags, and retrieved the fat little picture book that he was always clutching. Dean sighed.

"We're not reading _Farm Animals_ right now," he complained, finally abandoning the dregs of his breakfast. He hated having to finish his milk. "You need to eat, and then we have to get dressed." Dean tried to lug his little brother—Sammy was getting heavy, fast—back to the table. But the tot screeched in protest. As soon as they made it to the cracked linoleum, Sammy escaped again.

"Dee! Dee!"

Dean huffed after Sammy, grabbed his chubby hand, and took the book. "Later! We have to do what Dad says first."

"Mah! Mahmah!" Sammy grabbed at Dean's pajama shirt in attempt to reclaim the book. Unfortunately for him, Dean's reach was way taller. Dean took this opportunity to lure Sammy into the kitchen once more, where he tried to give his brother the cereal instead. Sammy batted the bowl to the floor angrily. "_Mah!_"

"Sammy, look what you did. Now I have to clean it up before Dad sees." Frustrated he tossed the book into Sammy's chest. "Take the stupid book." While he picked the sticky, drooly mess off the floor, Sammy opened the book and began to chew on it with the almost-six teeth he had. Good thing the baby book was made of plastic. Somebody actually thought ahead.

Breakfast decidedly done, Dean pulled Sammy over to their bed. "Stay here a minute." Then he rooted through the smaller duffel bag for clean clothes. There wasn't much to choose from. He settled on a stained pair of blue, elastic-waist shorts and a green t-shirt for Sammy, and a 'Future Rock Star' shirt with his favorite black cutoff jeans for himself. Next to the safety rail attached to the frame of their bed, Sammy (thankfully) was still occupied with his book.

Dressing himself was easy. He was six now, a big boy! He went to school now and everything. His brother, however, was even more obstinate about clothes than with the cereal. The big baby screamed when Dean took the book away so as to get Sammy's little arms through his shirt sleeves. It wasn't in the way when he tried to wiggle the bottoms over Sammy's diaper, so he gave it back, but Sammy kicked and squirmed the whole time.

Dad opened the bathroom door during this last struggle. "Got everything together, little man?"

"Sammy won't hold still!" Dean told him woefully. Sammy just giggled around his drool-covered book. Dad scrubbed at his hair with a towel, which he tossed back in the bathroom, and picked Sammy up. "Bein' a little stinker, are you? Lemme fix that." He tickled Sammy under the ribs, making him squeal shrilly. After a sufficient amount of light wrestling, he stood Sammy on the bed, using the kid's own weight to jimmy the shorts into place. The Velcro sneakers were easy after that. "Thanks for all your help, Dean. Go brush your teeth while I pack up the dirty laundry."

Dean obeyed. The sooner they got chores done, the sooner they could go to the park. By the time he was finished, Dad and Sammy were ready to go.

The town Laundromat was noisy, but both Dean and Sammy liked to watch the clothes tumble in the soapy water. Dean also liked to try to guess which waiting customer had which machine. He didn't know why. It was something to do. Mostly, however, he just chased Sammy around to make sure his little brother didn't get into trouble. That was his job when they went out on chores.

Once their clothes made it to the dryer, they walked down the strip mall to the little grocery store on the end. Dean knew they didn't have a lot of money—only enough for necessities like milk and cereal, bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Most of the time they had some kind of fruit and veggie, usually grapes and carrot sticks. Sometimes, if Dad made a little extra, they could have cookies. Today was not one of those days.

"Hold this for me, buddy, and keep a hold of your brother's hand," Dad instructed as he gathered up the grocery bags. Dean took the bag with the bread and cereal, and grabbed Sammy, who was still charming the pretty cashier lady with his babbling.

They trooped back to the Laundromat. Dad took five minutes to stuff the clean, warm clothes into their laundry bag with the backpack straps; Dean would have helped, but Sammy was getting restless, and wanted to run around. "No, Sammy! We have to stay here, we're going to go soon." He grabbed his little brother by the too-big hoodie, causing the toddler to screech in protest.

"Come on, boys," Dad called over the collective hum of the machines.

Between Dad and Dean, they managed to get laundry, groceries, and family into the Impala. Sammy fought against his carseat, fussing and rubbing his eyes. They went through a fast food drive thru to grab lunch.

"Can we go to the park now?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Not quite yet. We have to put everything away first, and Sammy needs a nap."

"Can't I play while Sammy naps?"

They pulled into the parking space in front of their motel room. "We'll see how long it takes to finish up. Help me carry this stuff done," Dad explained. The two of them climbed out. He helped Dean shoulder the big laundry bag, as well as a couple of the shopping bags. Dean liked to show how much of a big boy he was. Then Dad reached in to unbuckle Sammy, grabbing the milk with his free hand afterward. "Can you open the door.

Holding the keys was an important job! With a little finagling, Dean got the shoulder-level doorknob to work. They piled into the room—groceries in the kitchen, Sammy on his and Dean's bed, the laundry on Dad's. Dean got to work putting the food where it was supposed to go while Dad started folding the laundry. Sammy rolled over, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

"All done!" announced Dean.

"Good job," Dad answered. "Now come over here and pair up the socks for me."

"But I want to go to the park!"

"_Dean_, I need you to cooperate." Uh oh, the warning voice. Dean did as he was told. Following the laundry, they cleaned up what sparse dishes were in the sink. Since theirs was a room for longer stays, housekeeping didn't come in as often. Next came sweeping. Dad took the broom for the linoleum, and Dean ran the old roller vacuum over the threadbare carpet, one of those rattly things that didn't need to be plugged in. Finally, Dad agreed that they could go to the park, as long as Dean was quiet on the way to let Sammy sleep. They loaded once more into the Impala.

With Sammy still napping his carseat, Dad sat in the open driver's side while Dean sprinted for the monkey bars. He could just now reach them from the top rung of the ladder, though he knew Dad didn't like it when he did that. But he liked the momentary feeling of flying. Ignoring the burning that quickly grew on his palms, he swung his whole body to keep the momentum to reach the next, and the next rung.

A few other kids were running around the jungle gym, and they let Dean join in a game of tag. Unlike most kids, Dean liked being it because he liked finding sneaky ways to tag the others. He'd climb up the far side of the gym, watch through the space under the safety walls, and attack through there before his prey could see him.

"Deee!"

Distracted, Dean stopped running to see Sammy and their Dad coming towards him. The 'it' kid didn't notice and ploughed right into Dean, knocking them both over. "Hey, watch it!"

"Too slow, you're it," laughed the kid as he brushed himself off. Dean wanted to push him back, but Sammy's little arms clamped around his thigh at that very moment.

"Dee! Dee!" Sammy pulled at him toward the rusted carousel, his favorite.

Dean tried to detach his brother. "Not now, Sammy."

"Dean, please include your brother," said Dad. A couple of the parents were close enough to say hi.

"Sorry," Dean told the 'it' kid, "I think I'm done." And he let Sammy lead him over the coarse mulch to the carousel. The chubby kid clambered onto the steel floor of the self-propelled ride. Dean got him situated where the handle bars were closest, so Sammy had support and hand holds on both sides. "You ready?"

Sammy nodded. Dean braced himself on the outer end of one of the bars. The contraption was a little still from the rust; his sneakers dug furrows in the mulch before he really got the carousel spinning. Once he did, it was easy enough to get going. He spun Sammy in circles, smiling in spite of himself at the high-pitched giggles coming from his little brother. He ran until he couldn't see straight, and had to wobble away from the carousel before he could hit his head. Sammy crawled out after him, even more comical with his unsteady toddler legs. They were both laughing now, flopped on the nearby grass, watching the clouds spin over them.

"Dee." Sammy pulled at Dean's sleeve again, and pointed at the carousel.

"Again?" sighed Dean. "If we keep doing that, we're gonna barf everywhere.

Sammy giggled insanely.

"Fine…gimme a couple minutes, and we'll go again."

They did it two more times, actually. Then Sammy finally decided to explore the jungle gym. Dad kindly followed the one-year-old, and let Dean enjoy a break in the grass. Little brothers were tiring! As he regained the ability to see straight, he noticed the bright pink lining of the clouds. The sunset turned everything above him vibrant shades of yellow, orange, red. A wave of purple started to peek out from above the trees opposite the sun. He loved this time of year. Everything exploded from plain white and grey into a whole rainbow.

Slowly, more of the red and orange gave way to purple and darker blue. The breeze suddenly became chilly. Dean realized he was laying in the shadow of a tree. He sat up.

Dad lifted Sammy off the jungle gym and swung him around as if he was an airplane. More infectious laughter filled the air. Tucking the wiggling Sammy under his arm, he walked towards Dean. "It's getting late. We need to head back for dinner."

Thoroughly parked-out for the time being, Dean obeyed without complaint.

Back in the apartment, Dad fixed grilled cheese and tomato soup. He let Dean watch the evening game shows while they ate. Sammy wasn't old enough to care one way or another. Night fell outside, masked only by the yellow parking lot light that hung over the Impala, on the other side of the window.

After an hour of TV, Dad clicked the old set off. "Okay, boys, bath time."

Dean groaned, Sammy mimicking him. But he knew there was no use fighting it, so he retrieved his and Sammy's pajamas. Dad picked up Sammy himself and the shower bag. They ran hot water together, added a capful of the motel bubble bath. Dean undressed, and helped Sammy do the same.

Baths weren't all bad. Dean liked making Sammy giggle by building soap sculptures on their heads. It felt good to have Dad scrub the shampoo into his hair. One at a time, they leaned back so Dad could help them rinse under the faucet. Sammy splashed both of them a lot. What Dean didn't like was the moments of cold when he stood up out of the tub, before getting wrapped in a big towel.

"Go ahead and step out so I can get your brother."

Once dry, they bundled into their old flannel pajamas. Dean had declared himself too old for bedtime stories, so he climbed right into bed. Sammy was just the opposite. Dad sat with the toddler on his lap, reading farm animals, and then just rocking him. Sammy never liked actually going to sleep. Sleepy tears rolled down his chubby cheeks.

It was this time, every night, that Dean saw another side of Dad. The quiet, solemn side that held onto Sammy like his life depended on it. The side that sometimes cried, sometimes whispered for Mom. _Mary…Mary, I wish you were here. We miss you so much…_ As Sammy gave in to sleep with the rocking of the creaky armchair, and Dean watched secretly from under the covers, Dad was left alone.

Dean wished his dad didn't have to feel that way, but he couldn't stay awake long enough.

_Busy hands, busy feet  
>Busy mind go to sleep<br>Now let go of your fight  
>Say hello to the night<br>Close your eyes, go to bed  
>Give it up, sleepyhead<br>Teary eyes, shaky chin  
>It's a fight you can't win…<em>

'Busy Hands, Busy Feet;' _Come to the Cradle_  
>Michael Card, 1993 (anachronistic, I know, but the spirit is there)<p> 


	3. Watching, Waiting

_1979_

"_John_! It's coming! Oh, God, now I know why my mother didn't have any more kids. Pleeeease, hurry!" The petit blonde woman curled over her large stomach, sweat plastering her long hair to her pain-contorted face. The dark-haired man in the driver's seat kneaded the steering wheel impatiently. He swerved around the thick traffic whenever possible.

"I'm doing the best I can! I can't help it the kid picked the height of rush hour to announce himself," he tried not to shout. His wife let out an anguished cry at that moment, and he immediately switched into comforting mode. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay. Just take deep breaths."

"How much farther?"

He scanned the road signs. "Uh, let's see—ahah! Two more miles, honey. That's it, an' then you can let 'er rip."

"Fine choice of words, there," she growled at him through clenched teeth.

"Sorry."

Though he was able to keep a steady speed, the traffic continued to swell. The black body of the Impala did nothing to ease the hot, stuffy situation. He spotted the exit for the hospital—except so did half the cars in front of him.

"Yeeeyaahhh!" his wife howled, arms clutching her stomach. "They're right on top of each other. Hurry!"

He laid on the horn as a station wagon cut him off. "Hey, we all got somewhere to be!" Ten cars still sat ahead as the light turned green. "Hang on." He jerked the Impala onto the gravely shoulder. Whether Mary's cries were from contractions or the bumpy ride was anyone's guess, but now they were making progress. He made the right turn just before the light turned red again.

They hurtled into the hospital driveway, both of them gasping for breath. John parked right at the emergency door despite the 'ambulance only' sign.

"I'll be right back!" He ran inside, looking for anyone in scrubs. "I need help! My wife's in labor out in the car!"

A lab-coated doctor and a nurse jumped away from the front desk toward him. The nurse grabbed a wheelchair. "Lead on, sir." They all rushed outside, where Mary had her legs dangling out of the open passenger door.

"Ma'am, I need to check you—" the doctor began.

"Noooo, I gotta push!"

"Sir, I need you to get in behind your wife. Give her something to brace against."

John didn't quite understand. "Shouldn't we be getting inside?"

"Your baby's coming _now_. Please go support your wife."

He did as he was told. Mary's cries tore at his own stomach, along with excitement, fear, and an absolute loss of control of the situation. But he jumped in the driver's side, folding up as best he could behind her.

"Okay, push as hard as you can," instructed the doctor.

Time, sound, everything seemed to blur away. His world filled with screams, encouraging shouts, heat, and sweat. He tightly held Mary's left hand in his own, their wedding rings clicking together. Then her body slumped against him. The doctor's tone changed. And he registered an entire new sound—the high-pitched cries of an infant.

"Congratulations, it's a boy."

"A car lover already, huh?" Mary quipped through her ragged breathing.

Another nurse had arrived with towels and a gurney. The mottled, screeching bundle was wrapped while attendants helped Mary onto the waiting bed. John scrambled back out just in time for Mary to take their first child into her arms.

The new family rested in the private maternity room. Mary glowed even through her exhaustion. John stroked her matted hair.

"So, Dean it is?"

"Yeah," she whispered, "After my mom." Her fingers brushed the newborn's peaceful face.

_Far above, the watcher nodded his approval. Good. Destiny was taking shape. He would continue to observe this family, this bloodline. A second watcher joined the first._

"_All is well with the Plan?" the deep voice asked._

"_Yes," answered the first watcher. "He has been born. A sound, fitting vessel, pleasing to Father. All is well."_

_1983_

Parked in the hospital lot, John climbed out of his pristine Impala. He eased Mary out of the passenger side, and then reached in further to retrieve four-year-old Dean. The three of them headed for the entrance holding hands.

"Dr. Ian told us to come in if there was still no labor after a week," John explained to the desk clerk.

"Name?"

"Winchester, Mary."

Mary couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in her chest, but she tried to push passed it by focusing on the little boy hanging on her right arm. She knew Dean was excited to be a big brother.

"Tracy will show you to room six while I call Dr. Ian," said the clerk, retrieving a file. "And there's a playroom down the hall monitored by a licensed caregiver."

Tension was high in the room despite every effort to reduce stress. Neither of them was comforted by the monitors reporting on both Mary's and the baby's health. John was in the midst of pacing when Dr. Ian arrived. "And how are we doing today? Ready to have a baby?"

"Just a little nervous," Mary confessed. Her face showed a little more age since the last time she was in this position. "I didn't expect to go this far without any signs of labor at all."

It happens. Sometimes a little one is just stubborn. Let's take a look here." Dr. Ian picked up the paper readout gathered on the floor. Unfortunately, his demeanor became less upbeat as he studied the results. Mary felt—and heard—her heart begin to speed up. The doctor adjusted her gown and the blanket so as to lightly palpate her stomach. The look on his face didn't improve.

"The baby's vitals and responses are a little lethargic for my liking. I know you wanted to go about this as natural as possible, but—" A loud alarm interrupted him.

"What's going on?" demanded John.

"Signs of fetal distress, I was worried about this—I need an OR prepped for emergency C-Section, now! We need to move," Dr. Ian rapped to them as was as into the emergency call button. He started preparing the bed for maneuvering.

Mary's eyes widened. "What's wrong, it he going to be okay?"

"I'm not sure what the cause is, but our best chance is to deliver as soon as possible."

Time stretched with the sudden flurry of activity. Someone passed John green surgical wear so he could stay at his wife's side. Medications were hooked into Mary's IV, an oxygen feed threaded around her face, more sensors and wires attached to keep tabs on her condition. A sterile barrier was erected to block their view of the impending procedure. They held hands tightly, franticly. A tear slipped down Mary's temple. John brushed her hair with his free hand.

"They're taking care of everything, it'll be okay."

"Okay, Mrs. Winchester, you're going to start feeling pressure on your stomach. Concentrate on your husband, alright?" coached a large nurse. Mary flinched, what little of her she could move. The operating team kept them updated with what to expect, what they were doing next. After what seemed like an impossible amount of time, they announced that the baby was out.

Except no cries added to the chaos.

"W-Wha? What' s wrong?" Mary asked woozily. John could only see the team's heads as they shifted attention to a nearby table.

"Come on, open those little lungs for us," muttered the doctor. Craning his neck, John managed to see Ian massaging the little body with one gloved hand. "Come on, you can do it…"

Mary's was crying in earnest now. The baby wasn't making a sound.

Then it happened—high-pitched coughing, a shaky breath, and one long scream. The other side of the screen erupted in activity. Shuffling linens, talking, the scrape of plastic wheels on tile. The blessed wailing receded through an far door. Dr. Ian was explaining how he was going to close up the surgery.

"My baby…how is my baby?" gasped Mary.

John smiled at her, running his fingers through her blonde hair. "He's beautiful, and lively."

"They're taking him up to the NICU just to make sure he's okay," Dr. Ian added. "Let's focus on you right now."

_The watcher above sighed, even as he nodded his approval. This time the second was already at his side. "It is done, then. Destiny is fully in motion."_

"_Seems a fitting arrival, doesn't it," the first commented wryly._

"_You could call it that. So, now we wait?"_

"_Now we wait." Deep within them, within the very fabric of existence, a tremor at once satisfied and foreboding. "Our brother knows as well."_

Two hours later, with careful help to make sure she didn't disturb her sutures, Mary arrived at the NICU in a wheelchair. John guided their older son in pushing her up to the heat lamp-lit table. A clean, chubby baby in a diaper and cotton cap lay there, little sticky pads monitoring his heart. The nurse saw them, and approached, smiling.

"You've got a little fighter here," she told the family. "Dr. Ian wants one night of observation, but after that, we'll be back into routine. Would you like to hold him?"

Mary could only nod. The nurse lifted him—Samuel, they had already decided—in a blanket without jostling the wires, and put him in her arms. The warmth and weight brought that elusive comfort she had sought through the whole ordeal. Sammy responded almost immediately to her touch, stirring and opening his eyes. They were already turning dark hazel.

John practically glowed with happiness and relief. "Hey, Dean, would you like to hold your little brother for a bit?" When the four-year-old nodded excitedly, John lifted him into the armchair next to the NICU table. Ever so tenderly, he took Sammy from Mary, relishing the feel of a live, wiggling body in his arms. "Okay, hold your arms out. You're gonna have one under his head, and one over his tummy. Be careful of the wires. Let his bottom sit in your lap. There you go. Mary, hand me the camera, will you?"

A perfect family, it seemed. A family that was going to mean something to the world. But for now, it was just the four of them.


	4. the Silenced Swan

"Oh he's in here. And he's going to feel the snap of your bones—every single one."

_No, no please!_ Sam cried mentally. He knew this was on purpose. Lucifer was gaining as much pleasure from his emotional agony as from beating the living crap out of Dean. And the archangel was not going to let Sam sit it out.

He _did_ feel Dean's bones crack, felt his own knuckles bruising and splitting from the inhuman blows. He felt the way his hard-trained muscles coiled and let loose again…and again…and again. Mentally he was shoved in the corner, but he was still fully aware of everything his body did. Lucifer had used him to explode Cass, to kill Bobby. Now he felt Dean's strength giving way under his own hands.

"I'm here—Sammy—I'm not gonna leave you," gasped his deformed older brother.

Sam's arm cocked back for the next blow. He could imagine the mindless brutality Dean must see in his eyes (he could feel Lucifer working his facial muscles, after all). Then a tremendous blow to his ribs sent Sam/Lucifer flying sideways.

Michael straightened Adam's body above Sam. "Enough toying around. We end this now."

Sam bellowed voicelessly as the older archangel laid into his hijacked body. Bones shattered, blood splattered, agony ripped through his trapped soul. However, Lucifer wouldn't be overpowered like an ordinary human. He regained his feet, started throwing punches back with Sam's already battered fists. The two angels grappled, threw each other, and called out power that would have smote any lesser being. All the while, Sam's only thought was to glimpse Dean whenever he could. The bloody, leather-jacketed figure remained slumped against the side of the Impala.

A blow from Michael snapped Sam's head back—he was sure something critical had broken, but with Lucifer at the reigns, his body carried on impossibly. How was he still conscious? Powerless though he may be, how much of this could his human soul endure on earth?

Lucifer launched Michael thirty feet away, arm joints flopping way farther than they ever should. But as he squared his footing, a blinding light hit his eyes as it reflected off the Impala. That's when Sam saw it; stuck in the ashtray on the driver's side of the back seat, a faded green army man was just visible.

Sam's emotions took over both of their minds. Memories of his childhood, of Jess, of hunting with Dean, every positive image of what he had to live for flooded in front of his eyes—and thus, Lucifer's. Sam could feel them like a physical embrace. And in that moment, Lucifer's momentary distraction allowed Sam to wrench back control. "It's okay, Dean," he rasped out to his brother. "It's okay. I've got 'im."

What little of Dean's face remained workable registered shock. Still some distance away, Michael too seemed dumbstruck. No known vessel in history had successfully regained control by force. It wasn't possible!

Sam took his chance, pulling out the key of Horsemen's rings and reciting the incantation. A supernatural force pulled the key into the earth, and a hungry, screaming chasm opened to him. The open gate to the Cage. Sam locked gazes with Dean once more, as if his terrified expression could convey everything he wanted to say. It was now or never. He wouldn't get another chance to fix this.

Michael strode towards him. He had to shout at the top of his voice to be heard. "It's not going to end this way, Sam! I have to fight my brother, it's my destiny!"

Sam felt Lucifer strain inside him; he couldn't hold on much longer. His body felt like it was ripping itself apart from within. Dean's expression was even more terrified, if that was possible. Sam knew his brother didn't want him to do what he was about to do. But they didn't have any other choice. So Sam closed his eyes, threw his arms out, and let himself fall.

In that moment, everything dissolved into peace. He couldn't feel Lucifer, or the pain, or really even the snatching gust leading the way into the Pit. Whatever highest power held the universe, it told him everything was going to be okay. Then he felt his left arm jerk. He opened his eyes. Michael was making a wild grab to stop him. So be it. Sam gripped the archangel in his half-brother's body. They both tumbled into the chaos and darkness that awaited.

Same opened his heavy eyes to the strangest scene he'd ever experienced. His surroundings were utterly dark, and exuded a stifling weight. Quite in contrast, however, the two archangels stood blinding white before him, even though he could make out the humanoid figures, the burning eyes and wings. Somewhere outside his vision, he sensed Adam's cowering presence.

"I confess, perhaps I underestimated you," rumbled Lucifer. He studied the Cage within which they were all now trapped. Michael released a useless burst of power.

"You insolent, worthless plague of Father's creation!" he exclaimed petulantly. "How dare you go against the plans of destiny, of our very existence, all for the sake of your flimsy mortal whims! Do you realize what you've done?" A completely different class of agony ripped through Sam.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Really, Michael, are you just going to be petty? This is Hell. Get creative, at least!" He leaned in entirely too close to Sam's face. "We're bunk buddies for eternity now. Oh, this is going to be fun…"

Sam fought to swallow the lump that formed in his throat.


	5. All the Things We've Shared and Seen

**A/N: Okay, so I've hit a sappy/angst streak. This popped into my head out of nowhere, really. Maybe it was connected to s7's subtheme of controlling of what you perceive. I don't know. But the result was a little lost love fluff about Sam remembering Jess for all the good reasons. Set really early s2.**

"No, please, not again…" Sam groaned to himself. Once more he was stretched out on his old bed at Stanford, staring up at the mutilated form of his girlfriend pinned to the ceiling. Jessica's open mouth was horrified and pleading, her dying eyes boring into Sam's.

"No! _Jess_!"

Fire exploded around her, caught her nightdress, her fanned-out hair. The heat seared Sam's face, and made his eyes water. How many times would he be forced to endure this? He couldn't go back and change the past, yet the past wouldn't leave him alone. He could only lay there, hoping this time the flames would take him, too.

And they seemed to do that. The light grew white hot as it blotted out everything else. Everything except Jess' wide blue eyes. Sam felt his panic and pain leech slowly away. But the dream didn't stop there.

The world reformed around Jess' eyes, into that day on the palm-fringed lawn that Sam had met her. She was juggling way too many books from her at-the-time triple major, and dropped several just in time for the sprinkler system to kick on. They were both sophomores.

"_Here, let me get those for you."_

"_No, it's okay, I just need to—"_

"_It's no problem. I've got two hours 'til my next class. God, you were handling this much weight?"_

"_Hey, I played fastpitch softball for seven years, still play slowpitch in intermurals, thank you very much."_

"_I stand corrected. My name's Sam, by the way."_

"_I'm Jess. You know, I was just heading to the library for some studying; you wanna grab some lunch?"_

That sparkling, curious gaze had immediately hooked Sam. He had said yes, of course. The scene blurred away until it was just her eyes again, lively and welcoming. Sam felt a rush of excitement, that tingling sensation of first realizing he was in love. This time her face settled into the apartment they had shared. Except it was still bare, and littered with boxes. The day they moved in together. He felt her hand grab his.

"_I promise you'll love this place once we put a little life into it. I found some great imported décor down at the street market. And I figured we could paint the living room to give it a cozy feel. I already like the colors in the kitchen. But the bedroom and study should stay light, so we're not so tempted to doze off or sleep in."_

"_Okay, okay. You know I wouldn't have signed the lease if you hadn't already convinced me it was a good place."_

"_I just want it to be ours, you know? A space that represents both of us, not just me with you living in it."_

"_I know, Jess. It's great."_

"_So, what would your family think of you moving in with a girl you weren't married to?"_

"_We were never really the conservative type, so…I don't know. I never really cared what they would think. I just want to be with you."_

"_My parents would freak. But hey, they still think I'm living in an on-campus dorm. They don't have the money to come visit, so they don't have to know."_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Come on. They say the first step to making a place a home is making the bed. And I think it's time we made this place officially ours…"_

Sam couldn't help grinning. Jess had a rebellious side that was intoxicating. Not that he wasn't rebellious in his own right—but it wasn't like hers. She was stretching her wings out of a sheltering family, eager to take her place in the world, her way. Her attitude made his feel…less freakish.

The scenery shifted a third time, darkening, and growing loud. Sam knew where they would be before any distinctive features sharpened up. Jess wore a stylized little nurse's outfit, and festive lights danced both in her eyes and off the empty glasses on the table between them.

"_So here's to Sam and his awesome LSAT victory."_

"_Alright, it's not that big a deal."_

"_He acts all humble, but he scored a 174."_

Even through the embarrassment of everyone singing his praises (not to mention the celebratory alcohol), what stuck in Sam's memory was the shining pride when Jess looked at him. So much variety coming out of one place, those beautiful blue eyes.

"_Seriously, I'm proud of you. And you're going to knock 'em dead on Monday, and you're going to get that full ride. I know it."_

"_What would I do without you?"_

"_Crash and burn."_

A pang of longing hit Sam as he remembered the passionate kiss they shared then. Beyond the guilt and anger, he just _missed_ her. Maybe this little dream montage wasn't as bad as seeing her burn on the ceiling, but it still reminded him of what he'd lost. And it wasn't fair.

His surroundings morphed one more time, as Jess' bright eyes continued to ground him. However, what materialized, while familiar as a place, was not one of his memories.

Both of them were dressed nicely, though not formal. Jess' spaghetti-strapped dress showed off her perfectly tanned arms. Some distance behind her, the famous outline of Santa Monica Pier stood against the pink of early sunset. They walked barefoot in sand.

"_This was a great break from school, Sam. I loved it."_

"_Glad to hear. I never really got to have vacations with my family, so I've been looking forward to it all month."_

"_Just think; only a few weeks left before graduation. Have you thought about what you're doing afterward? I mean, besides law school."_

"_Mmm, a few things have crossed my mind. One in particular."_

Then came something Sam had only imagined doing—he bent down on one knee, and pulled a box out of his jacket pocket. Why was this playing in his head? A scene that was never going to happen, when he already missed Jess so badly!

"_Jessica Moore, will you marry me?"_

Shock, excitement, and utter joy all blended together in those blue eyes, the likes of which Sam had never seen there before. Jess extended a trembling hand to the simple ring in Sam's palm, a smile growing on her face. The sunset turned her cheeks a radiant gold.

"_Yes!"_

To his surprise, all the grief he'd been feeling melted away as he put the ring on her finger. This didn't make any sense. Why didn't he feel more torn by the fact that this would only remain a dream? Why didn't the bittersweet of knowing the truth shred him to pieces.

"_Remember this moment, Sam. No matter what happens, this is what we had, and always will have. Connection can't be taken away once it's been formed. Wherever we end up in the future, know that I was yours, only yours."_

Was? Sam rose again to his full height. Jess had locked gazes with him, seemed to see right _through_ to his present self as he witnessed the turn of events. She suddenly felt _there_, talking to him in real time.

"I love you, Sam. No power in the universe can change that. Remember all that we shared, everything that it meant, not the one moment that tried to stop it. I'll always be with you, here." Jess put her ring-adorned left hand to Sam's chest, then raised it to caress his face. He drank in the glow that seemed to emanate from her touch. It felt so warm and real.

The sunset intensified to swallow everything around them. Jess faded into it, until the only thing Sam could see was her blue eyes. Something told him this would be the last time he truly saw them. The light finally overcame them, too, but he could still feel her touch even as he suddenly emerged back in the darkness of his motel room. Dean's muted snoring came from the bed to Sam's right. The scratchy sheets reminded him that his earlier tussle with a rugarou had left him with several raw patches of skin. An odor of stale animal fur permeated the less-than-pleasant accommodations that made up his life once again.

And still he could feel her lingering touch.

If Sam were one to believe in angels, he would swear he just encountered one. Surely that's what had awaited Jess after death, innocent despite the nightmare in which she happened to be caught. Her last assurance lessened the ache in Sam's chest. He would remember her for the times they had together. He would make those times outweigh the horror of losing her.

He slept better for that.

**Mountain of cheese with sap on top! Not to mention the reference to "Think of Me," from **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** as the title…I'm hopeless sometimes. For once, I was unable to picture an OC romance, so I went for what was already there. After all, a first real love never really leaves you, whether you eventually find someone else or not. Sam's relationship with Jess truly shaped him in a lot of ways. Okay, end pontification ^-^**


	6. Keep You Safe

**A/N: Just a little bunny that pounced on me, asking what might have happened if Dean ended up shooting Sam in 'Born Under a Bad Sign.' Still sticks close to canon. Dean-centric brotherly angst and concern, even though Sam's the one getting hurt.**

* * *

><p>Dean swallowed hard as he approached the closed bar. The bay air sent a chill down his back that accompanied his unease. Something was definitely up with Sam, and he thought he knew what. Few supernatural entities could so completely masquerade as a human…why hadn't he thought to check before? Sam had been <em>missing<em> for a week…

He instinctively leveled his weapon as he burst through the door. Sam was freaking out, yelling at Dean to stop him. His brother had a knife on Jo, who was bound and gagged. But Dean wasn't hearing any of it. This wasn't Sam, not really, and Dean was here to fix it.

"Kill me, or I'm gonna kill her!" insisted Sam.

"No, Sammy. Come on." Dean shifted his grip on his gun uneasily. He eased forward, hoping to diffuse the situation without too many blows.

Suddenly Sam launched at him, knife going straight for Dean's throat. Instinct took over before Dean could think—he fired.

Something distorted Sam's scream just barely. The wound, low in his left side, smoked angrily. Dean had soaked this particular batch of ammo in holy saltwater. Sure enough, he could make out solid-black within Sam's pain-scrunched eyes. The younger hunter sank to his knees as red blossomed though his button up.

"Thought you had it all figured out, didn't you?" growled Dean. "Well, you're not getting Sam, not today, not ever." He dealt a swift kick to Sam's temple, knocking him out. Then he went to help Jo. "You okay?"

"He was possessed?" she choked, though she nodded that she was alright.

"Apparently. I've been looking for him for a week, and he suddenly returns my call. Been trying to convince me to waste him before he goes darkside or whatever. Convinced it's his destiny. Come on. We need to make a Devil's Trap so we can oust this son of a bitch."

He did dare remove the bullet, not yet. It would keep the demon uncomfortable until they could exorcise it. But he did take the time to check Sam over while Jo got the first aid kit. That's when he noticed the weird symbol burned onto Sam's forearm. "What the…?"

"Hey, I've seen that before," Jo commented over Dean's shoulder. "It's…um, it's a…some kind of binding spell. Ash researched it for a hunter not too long ago."

"That conversation wouldn't happen to have occurred over the phone, would it?" Dean replied testily.

"Maybe…but it wasn't Sam." However, Jo's doubt showed on her face. She bit her lip.

"Beauty of phone conversations. Adjust your tone of voice, give a random name, and you could be just about anybody. It's ready."

Together they hauled Sam into the Devil's Trap on the floor. For lack of other obvious options, Dean made a shallow slice with his knife to break the binding spell. He took a deep breath, and gave Sam a good slap around the head. "Rise 'n' shine, princess."

Sam groaned, face instantly twisting in pain. It took him several moments to register the current situation. Dean's stomach clenched at his brother's physical state. Normally, it would be unacceptable, but they had a demon to deal with. So he steeled himself for the task. Sam wobbled stiffly up onto his elbows.

"So, here we are again. Not quite the flair that Bobby had, but it does the trick, doesn't it," he sneered.

Dean felt his heart skip a beat. "Meg? _You're_ the one who wormed your way into Sam?"

"Not so easy to handle when the face is someone you care about, huh?" She let out an ugly version of Sam's laugh. "I've been looking for you two for a long time, Dean. Never got the chance to thank you for throwing me back in the Pit. You see, Hell is…well it's hell, even for demons. Where do you think the expression came from? Now I've got your precious little brother of all people—"

"Not for long you don't," Dean cut her off. Jo handed him the exorcism book. Sam/Meg eyed it warily.

"You know, for being such a cocky bastard, you don't have much smarts to back you up. Just 'cause I'm stuck in the trap doesn't mean I can't wreak havoc."

Before Dean could process what she might mean, Meg used Sam's own finger to dig into the bullet wound in his side. She couldn't quite suppress the physical reaction, though. Sam's face paled significantly, and his features flinched.

"Bitch!" Dean hissed. He began to spit the incantation as fast as he could, eyes locked with Sam/Meg's, as the demon tortured Sam with his own body. He couldn't help but feel that this was his fault, that somehow he wasn't there when Sam needed him. That wasn't true, of course. He couldn't have known a demon was waiting to possess one of them. At least he had said demon on whom to take out his fury. Soon Meg was obviously being affected. She clawed Sam's bloody fingers into the rough wood of the floor. Muscles moved in odd jerks.

"You can't stop what's coming," she taunted through Sam. One last effort. "Every demon topside is on the lookout for you two. Sam's never gonna be safe. I wasn't kidding when I said you should put him out of his misery now."

"Not a chance."

But Dean didn't get to finish the exorcism. Meg smoked out, slipping out under the front door. Sam was left in a coughing fit, his entire body spasming. Dean tossed the book and jumped forward, attitude an instant one-eighty. "Sammy!"

"Dean…" Sam was barely hanging on to consciousness. One hand grasped weakly at his injured side. Beside them, Jo crashed to the floor with the first aid kit.

"Hang in there, buddy. Demon's gone. Now we can patch you up." He worked feverishly to open up Sam's shirts. The entire situation was cutting it way too close. No way was he losing Sam. He couldn't. And he fought to block out the sneaking thoughts that he was still the one failing here. How could he possibly hope to keep protecting Sam? It could have cost the kid his life this time! Not to mention the lives of who knew how many other hunters. What if he hadn't gotten here when he did?

"Dean, your hands are shaking," Jo said quietly. "Here, let me…" She took the forceps from him. With Dean holding a penlight, she dug as carefully as possible for the bullet. Sam groaned even as he clamped his teeth together. Sweat beaded on all their faces.

"Got it!" Jo tossed the offending object into a waiting shot glass of alcohol. Dean immediately pressed gauze to Sam's side as blood trickled out a little faster. Sam breathed rapidly through his nose.

"Okay, next part's gonna hurt like hell, you know that," Dean warned his little brother. Sam only nodded sluggishly. Jo handed over the open bottle of antiseptic, which Dean poured liberally over the wound site.

"_Gaahhhh_!" Sam twisted with what little strength he had left.

"Almost done," Jo tried to soothe him. It didn't matter; Sam's head listed to the side as he passed out.

Dean and Jo made quick work of bandaging between the two of them. Then they hefted Sam a few feet to the side, Dean cleaned up the kit, and Jo retrieved a mop and cleaner to scrub the Devil's Trap off the floor.

"Hey, Dean, I know demons lie…but do they ever tell the truth?" she asked haltingly.

"Sometimes, especially if they know it'll mess with your head. Why?"

"It's nothing." Jo ducked further comment on the subject by digging two small objects from her pocket. "Mom gave me one of these years ago, along with a few spares to pass along to other hunters. They'll keep you from getting possessed." She gave Dean a small smile.

"Thanks." He went back to checking Sam over one more time. With all the noise they'd just made, it wasn't safe for them to stick around very long. "You should get out of here, too. See if you can pass it off as stupid kids breaking in for a prank. We'll probably crash at Bobby's for a few days until Sam was fit to hunt again." There he'd be safe for at least a little while longer.

Jo nodded, returned the mop, and gathered her stuff. Dean reluctantly brought Sam back to wakefulness. "C'mon, tiger, we gotta make tracks. You can sleep all the way to Sioux Falls if you want."

Sam moaned in pain, but attempted to help get him on his feet. With another small smile, Jo pressed a bottle of painkillers into Dean's free hand. Then she went to hit the lights. The hand draped over Dean's shoulder fisted tightly into his jacket.

"I got you. Impala's just outside. We'll have a nice little break once we get to Bobby's."

That's right, he'd be safe there, for the time being, anyway. Dean could deal with destiny after that.


	7. A Face in Purgatory

**A/N: S6, just a little window into Sam's thoughts after they learn about the function of Purgatory. Then his past comes back to haunt him unexpectedly as they try to save Cass from himself. Thanks to Siara Elen and her drabble series, **_**In the Eye of the Beholder**_**, for the little idea swap!**

**A/N 2: I know I already did a Sam/Jess one-shot in this series; these are all stand-alone stories, and while I personally prefer Sam and Jess, it's undeniable that Madison left her own impression ^-^**

"_It's all blood and bone and darkness. Filled with the bodies and souls of all things hungry, sharp, and nasty," said Bobby…_

Sam suddenly bolted from the sleep he was about to fall into. The realization hit him out of nowhere—if Purgatory was where monsters went, then that's where he'd sent Madison years ago. Without the buffer of his mercy killing defense, the pain of what he'd done crashed over him anew. They thought it was better to stop her, to put her out of her misery. But none of them had known what waited to take her afterward.

Cold sweat broke out on his exposed skin, dampened his sleeping clothes. His breath hitched painfully in his chest. She didn't deserve that fate. She did deserve any of it! Sam sat there, fighting to hold himself together in the darkness of the motel room. Over in the next bed, Dean snuffled on, undisturbed.

_What have I done?_

Sam extricated himself from the sticky sheets; he felt like they were trying to bury him alive. He tried a glass of water, which didn't help. So he crept outside to the freezing, dead-of-night air of the Pacific Northwest. Just his bare feet on concrete shocked his system out of complete panic. There wasn't anything he could do. Madison had been turned well before the Winchesters got wind of the situation. They certainly couldn't help the fact that dead monsters went to Purgatory. But part of him simply couldn't let her go. She had been the first truly positive spot in his life since losing Jessica.

Dean couldn't know about this. He'd complain about Sam being a girl, wallowing in his past, not focusing on the problem at hand. He wouldn't understand…

_Months later…_

"You never left, Sam," taunted Lucifer. "You're still in the Cage. With me."

Down the hallway, Sam heard Bobby begin the spell. But Lucifer wasn't about to let him go this time. No more hit-and-run hallucinations. As Sam tried to get around the apparition, the Devil slammed him against the wall by his throat. Just like when he imagined the chain in the ceiling, his supply of oxygen dwindled to almost nothing. "You—you're not real."

"Right," Lucifer mused, dripping with sarcasm. "You think this fruit-bat fever dream is reality? You come back, I'm sorry, with no soul like some peppy American Psycho 'til Saint Dean glues you back together again by buying you some magic amnesia. You're real. I'm very real. Everything between is what we call set dressing." And he squeezed harder on Sam's struggling airway.

In the unseen lab, howling wind began to kick up; he could even feel the breeze from here. An explosion followed, accompanied by bright light.

And in precious few, drawn-out moments, what happened next blotted out even Lucifer.

A streak of light broke off toward Sam, forming into a ghostly shape. He could make out Madison's gentle, non-wolf features. She smiled.

"I knew you'd be close by when we were release." Her ghostly hand brushed his sweaty cheek. "Don't worry, it's okay now."

Sam thought his eyes were going to bug out of his head. "W-W-What?"

"Purgatory maybe connected to Hell, but it's not the same. You don't have to hold onto this guilt. I accepted my fate long ago."

A sudden hope gripped Sam. "You can escape. Eleanor did it, and she lived happily here on Earth! Cass' mistake can be your opportunity!"

The mirage of the girl he knew shook her head, her expression mournful. "You know it's not right. Whatever fate had in mind, I am where I'm supposed to be. Besides, what would I do with such a life? Unable to age, unable to hold onto the people I cared about. That's not living, Sam…"

"I'm sorry…" croaked Sam. He felt tears fight to the surface, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Madison cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him so softly.

"You don't have to be." She glanced over her shoulder, back the way she came. "I have to go. You're still the best thing that ever happened in my life, Sam. Getting to see you again, even briefly, is all I could ever need where I'm going. Goodbye." With that, she dissolved once more into light, and disappeared. The tempest in the lab subsided.

"How cute."

Lucifer popped back into existence as if he'd just been on pause. "It's fascinating what the human mind does to cope with its messed up self. But like I said, you're still in my cell. You're my bunkmate, buddy…"

Sam tried to block out his return to Hell (real or imagined), which only goaded Lucifer into poking him in the chest to get his attention. Now the hallucination was just saying his name, "Sam, Sam—"

"Sam!"

Out of nowhere, Dean was the one speaking, prodding at Sam's chest. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, in turn surprising his brother and Bobby.

"Hey," rapped Dean. "You with us?"

Sam nodded, despite still breathing heavily. His thoughts were a tumbling mess. Could he really be imagining everything from the Cage? Was _anything _real? Lucifer, Dean, Madison. Madison…

"Did the spell work?" he asked.

Dean grunted, apparently less than happy with the results. "Yeah, it did. But we got ourselves a new problem. Come on."

So the souls really had returned to Purgatory. Maybe, just maybe, his vision of Madison was actually real. Nothing popped in his head to refute it or turn it upside down. She said she was okay. Sam felt the smallest unclenching within his tight chest. Maybe he could let go of his guilt, knowing she gave her permission. It didn't hurt going on that, anyway. If everything was going to be jumbled up in his head from now on, he might as well pick _something_ to believe.


	8. Fear and Loathing

Sam didn't like this feeling, not at all.

Sure, it was cool to be able to zap places without the uncomfortable side effects. But being possessed by an angel was an entirely different feeling of imperviousness than being possessed by a demon. Meg had exuded squeezing, suffocating power rooted in fear, forcing Sam's mind into a tight little corner of his own body. With Lucifer, however…power expanded like heat in a lightning strike, seeming to invade on every possible level of Sam's being. He could experience everything around him as if he was in control. Only he wasn't. Satan was wearing him like a school mascot.

They strolled, two minds in one form, through the trees skirting Stull Cemetery. This was the location of the final showdown. No sight nor sense yet of Michael, to Sam's relief. Sam tensed mentally at the thought of what the fight would be like for him. He'd felt everything when Lucifer used his body to murder those people from his past, and they were just puppets held still by demons.

_Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,_ the Devil crooned inwardly. _What an intriguing little pet you are. All those fears and worries rattling inside your mind. You know, you might just inspire me to not completely eradicate the human race. Some of you can be quite entertaining, like all those little animals you like to watch run around in cages._

Sam would have snorted if he had control of his diaphragm. _Yeah, bet you'd get a real kick out of that._ He _especially_ hated that Lucifer could—and had—browsed through all his memories.

_Well, you as a species apparently enjoy subjecting everything different from you to such treatment. I'm just returning the favor._

_You don't scare me,_ Sam growled.

Lucifer leaned Sam's shoulder against the nearest tree, running a hand through his long hair. _See, that's one reason I find you so fascinating. I mean, you've spent the vast majority of your life staring down some of the meanest suckers Creation has to offer with barely a flinch. _ To Sam's surprise, the gaudiest clown imaginable waltzed out from around the same tree. It didn't touch him, though it hovered waaaay too close to his face. Sam recoiled within his hijacked body. The Devil snorted. _ But really? Gimme a break._

_Clearly you haven't seen "It"…_

_What I'm saying is think of the macho points you're losing on that! Get a grip, Sammy, of all the things—GAAH, for the love of Hell!_ Suddenly Sam's body leapt out of its relaxed state.

Right around the tree, _through_ the clown, and passed his feet, a pair of squirrels tore a zigzag path, one chasing the other. Sam felt Lucifer's presence wind up tighter than Dean's sex drive. One squirrel darted behind their line of vision, while the other stopped dead ahead of them to stare. Its little head cocked to the side, tail twitching. Did Lucifer just _flinch_?

The thought dawned on Sam. _Naw, no way…_

_Hey, I can still gag you and stuff you away like my demons do—_

_Squirrels?! You're freaked out by squirrels?_

_They caught me by surprise! _Cocooned around and within Sam's mind, Lucifer bristled. Yet there was no mistaking the minute step back Sam's foot took when the small rodent edged forward. Sam was going to milk this for all the rest of his earthly existence was worth.

_It's so got you on defense right now! What's it gonna do, chew our ankles?_

That apparently hit a nerve. _Do you SEE the thing? With its beady little eyes, and the scrabbly claws, and the way you just know it's contemplating your every move. And they slink around down on their bellies like furry worms with legs. You'd think they were getting themselves off or something!_

_They're twelve-inch-long, instinct-ruled mammals that live off of nuts, _Sam laughed mentally. _They don't have the sentience to recognize a weapon if they sat on it. Clowns on the other hand—_

_I feel Michael on his way; shut up while I do what has to be done._ Lucifer strode out into the cemetery using Sam's long body.

But Sam was no longer thinking about the fight. Come what may, he had found one thing that may actually scare the Devil.


	9. Scare

"You sure this was a good idea?" asked Dean. He tightened his grip on the Impala's steering wheel as he drove over a sharp bump in the old asphalt road. Outside, the clouds were more ominous than ever.

"You're doing great, son. Sooner or later, you'll have to learn to face the less pleasant driving conditions, anyway," his dad reassured him from the front passenger seat. Sam dozed in the back. Barely twelve years old, but smart as hell. Dad brought him along on hunts now to help with research.

The clouds released their heavy load around the lone car. Another bump in the road jolted Sam awake. "W-Where are we?"

"Just got into Montana. Maybe an hour from where we'll stop for the night."

"Weather's getting pretty bad, though," Dean voiced nervously. "I can't see twenty feet ahead of me." Indeed, rain on the windshield and well ahead of the car distorted everything in the headlight beams.

"Everything's fine. There's no one else on the road, it's as straight as they come. This is just a cloudburst. I betcha it won't even last half the rest of the drive."

"I just don't feel comfortable, that's all. What if I do something to the car? What if something happens to you guys because of me?"

Their dad sighed. "If you're that worried, pull over and I'll switch you."

"What, Dean's scared to drive? After all that nagging?" Sam needled.

"Shut up, bitch—"

"_Dean_. Just pull over."

The road was narrow. The right side dropped off into a small levee ditch between them and the nearby river. A minor flash flood poured down the ditch to a spillway pipe, keeping the road itself from flooding. Dean prepared for the brief soaking he was about to get.

Things quickly went downhill, literally. As their dad shifted his weight to get out, the ground crumbled just a bit near the Impala's front right wheel. They all froze with the lurch.

"Damn," muttered their dad. "Dean, I'm going to slide into the driver's seat as soon as you open your door. Get in the back with Sammy. Stay as far to this side as you can. Careful now." They almost finished the maneuver when more of the slope and worn out asphalt started to give way. "No, no, out! Get Sammy out of the car now!"

All three of them jumped into the pouring rain. Thankfully, the Impala did not slip further off-kilter.

"I'm sorry, Dad!" Dean called miserably over a clap of thunder.

"You didn't know the ground was this unstable. Damn country roads. We can still fix this." The dad led the way to the trunk, which he opened very carefully. Among their few bags was a woven tow rope, about ten feet long. He pulled it out, handed one end to his boys to uncoil, and secured the other end under the Impala's front end.

"We're going to _pull_ the car?" Sam piped up incredulously.

"It's not actually as hard as it looks. I'm going to get back in the driver's seat to put it in neutral and guide the steering wheel. With you two—well, mainly Dean—"

Sam pulled his trademark scowl.

"—with you pulling, we should get it back on the road pretty easily. Just don't get too close to the edge."

They set to work. For a moment, the Impala rocked a little unsteadily, then stilled. Their dad put it in gear, and flashed the headlights.

"C'mon," grunted Dean. "Sooner we do this, the sooner we can get out of this stupid rain." The boys heaved on the rope, stray bits of fiber biting into soft palms. The old car seemed stubborn at first, but as their dad cranked the wheels around, the front end began to inch up from its awkward position.

At last, the headlights flickered again to tell them to stop. Dean and Sam both went to untie the tow rope, their dad climbing out to help.

As it's always said, it all happened so fast.

Thunder clapped right above their heads. Sam in particular jumped, not being a fan of storms to begin with. The movement was just enough. His sneaker shot out beneath him in the disintegrating dirt shoulder, and went tumbling into the water-filled ditch.

"_SAMMY_!" Dean screamed. Within seconds, the youngest Winchester was swept towards the spillway—and the river.

Their dad, who had been coiling the tow rope, leapt across to the embankment. Dean followed, panicked, at his heels. It was maybe a lateral distance of thirty feet in total, lined by trees on the river side. With no indication that the rain was letting up, they scanned the water for sight of Sam's bright red jacket. Their dad started looping the tow rope around a tree.

"Hold this tight, son; I'm going after him," he rapped out to Dean.

"You know I wouldn't be able to hold yours and Sam's weight against a current like that!" Dean protested.

"That's an order, Dean!"

"I'm lighter than you, and a better swimmer, you know that!" Dean snatched the end of the rope, pulling it around his waist. Protecting Sam was _his_ job, and his alone. "_There_! I saw his jacket! The force of the water from the pipe must be holding him down. I'll give you three sharp tugs when I've got him!"

Their dad checked the not just to be double sure. "And I'm pulling you out whether you like it or not if there's any sign of trouble. No arguments! I'll do everything in my power to save Sammy, but I am _not_ losing both of you!"

Dean nodded, skidded his way down to the water line, and surface-dove in. The pounding of the water was both deafening and threatened to beat the air from his lungs. He could hardly see. Submerged branches snagged at his already drenched clothes. He was forced to surface the first time without even catching sight of Sam. Without acknowledging his dad's shout, Dean immediately dove again. This time he glimpsed red below the torrent of bubbles swirling around him.

He let the force of the water propel him downward. Sam was limp, brown mop floating around his pale face. Dean grabbed the kid close. He felt his boots brush rock, so he kicked as hard as he could to get them out from under the crushing waterfall, and pulled sharply on the tow rope. The pressure around his middle jerked to one side as their dad began to haul them up.

His battered lungs were grateful to break the surface once more. Thundering water gave way to slightly gentler splashing and rain pattering. Sam remained dead weight in Dean's arms while their dad pulled them to shore; he wasn't breathing.

"Hurry, Dad!" Dean gained footing on shaky legs. Sam's lips were turning blue. Water dribbled from his mouth, and he was scarily still. Their Dad pumped the kid's chest with both military precision and the panic of a distressed father. Dean fell right into giving Sam rescue breaths when instructed.

"Come on, Sammy. Don't do this! Not tonight, not this way, not of I can help it!" Their dad paused to check Sam's pulse, if it was even still there. "Come _on_!"

Dean felt hot tears join the rivulets of water that were making him shiver. "Please, Sammy, you can't leave us like this!"

Just as he bent down for the tenth set of breaths, Sam's body spasmed suddenly. Water gushed out of the twelve-year-old's mouth. Their dad rolled him to his side so he wouldn't re-aspirate it. Dean took the opportunity to pound on Sam's back.

"That's it, Sammy! Breathe, work it all out!"

The horrible coughing started giving way to full-bodied gasps and some pained whimpers. Sam's hand groped for something, anything comforting to hold onto. It found Dean's sodden jacket sleeve. Their dad took over the back-pounding for a more soothing massage action.

"Good, son. You're alright, you're safe now," he murmured with a tenderness they hardly ever saw anymore. "Dean, take the rope and head up to the Impala. Get as many of those old blankets from the trunk as you can hold. Both of you need to get warm, and fast. I want you to sit in the back with your brother for the rest of the drive."

"Yes sir."

"Deeean…?" moaned Sam.

"Right here, bud," Dean answered, running a hand over Sam's wet, shaggy hair. The kid still hadn't let go of his jacket sleeve.

"Don't leave me, Dean…"

"I'm not. Dad's gonna carry you to the car, and then I'll get you out of those wet clothes. Hang in there." He led the way up the levee slope. A land bridge of sorts was just a few yards ahead of the Impala, so their dad didn't have to try to jump the ditch with Sam in his arms. Dean, however, made the jump so as to get the blankets faster. He opened the back door, tossed them in, and peeled his wet clothes down to his boxers. Then he climbed in to help ease Sam inside, stripping the kid's clothes off in the process.

Sam still wasn't quite comprehending. "Why…you messing my clothes…?"

"Gotta get you warm, Sammy," Dean explained in that gentle way he always did if Sam wasn't well. "Don't worry, you'll keep your boxers and you'll be wrapped tight in a blanket."

Sam only moaned in response. Dean settled his little brother's head and shoulders into his lap. Their dad closed the back door, climbed in the front, and revved the engine. They were off again. Go figure, like unhelpful Fate, the rain slacked off almost immediately.

"Is that town we were going to stop in the nearest one?" asked Dean. He didn't like how wheezy Sam's breathing was.

"No, there's a closer one a little bit out of our way. It'll do, though. You boys come first."

That was good enough for Dean. In the meantime, he reached inside the blanket cocooning Sam, and massaged the thin, clammy chest. "Hear that? Not too long now. Just take it easy for the rest of the ride."

Sam grimaced. "Chest hurts…"

"I know. That's what you get for trying to play mermaid." Both brothers cracked up a little at that. Until Sam's chuckle turned into a cough. "Hey, I said take it easy."

"Trying…feels like I'm getting hugged by a vengeful spirit…"

"Well, I'm here. That's all that matters, 'kay? Try to relax your body as much as you can."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes. But he kept a strong grip on the arm with which Dean cradled him. That was how they communicated, ultimately. Wordless expressions that let the other know he was there. And that was good enough for Dean, though he kept sharp attention on Sam's vital signs.

They rolled into the backwater town well after dark. Sam had fallen asleep some twenty minutes prior. While his breathing remained a little harsh, it was steady. His skin was no longer clammy against Dean's hand.

Their dad hopped out to get a room at the motel. Dean took the cue to gently shake Sam. "Hey, sleeping beauty, we're here."

"Mmmm?" Sam twisted his face into a grimace that was thankfully more sleep than pain. He kept his grip on Dean even as he was bundled more tightly for transfer to the warm room. For this reason, their dad let Dean carry him in. None of them even cared that Dean was still in only boxers and a blanket; all the rooms close to them had dark windows.

With Sam safely on the bed farthest from the door, Dean finally freed himself from the kid's death grip and went to turn the room's heat up. Their dad tromped in not long after with their night bags. "Get yourself into some warm clothes, son."

"It's still hard to breathe," murmured Sam, struggling with the damp blanket around him. Both of the older Winchesters quickly converged on him. While Dean began transitioning him into clean pajamas, his dad took the opportunity to put his ear to Sam's bare back.

"Yeah, you're a little wheezy. Gotta give your lungs a chance to dry out. Anything still hurt?"

Sam shrugged. "My chest hurts a little bit from coughing, but it's a lot better than before."

"Arms up," instructed Dean. He tucked his little brother into an old sweatshirt and helped him lay back down. "It'll be easier if you stay stretched out." The kid drifted back off almost immediately.

"Get some sleep yourself," said their dad, exhaustion lacing his gravelly voice. "I want to be on the move again as soon as you both can."

"Yessir." He settled into sudden darkness as his dad turned off the main light.

When something woke him up, all he knew was that it was still dark and there was no immediate danger that he could detect. But neither was everything alright. He looked to the right; their dad was still fast asleep, snoring softly. He looked to the left. Of course. Sam was tossing and turning in his own sleep, his moans betraying that the kid was having a nightmare. Dean slipped out of bed to comfort his little brother.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. You're safe, here in the motel. Come on, wake up."

Sam's eyes snapped open as he jolted. Dean could feel a little more warmth from his forehead than there should be. "Be back in a sec. I'll get you some Tylenol and water." He only left once Sam acknowledged this. Even in the dark, he could make out the fear in Sam's now-wide eyes.

Sam obediently took the meds he was given. His breathing was still quick, though a lot better sounding than earlier. Dean easily scooched his little brother over enough to join him on the bed. Sam snuggled up under his arm.

"So, what's up?"

"I can't stop thinking about the water," Sam whispered. "Cold, holding me down. I didn't have a chance to breathe. I thought I was going to die…"

Dean gave the kid's slight shoulders a squeeze. "You know Dad and I wouldn't let that happen. Gave us a scare, sure, but everything's okay now." He had to work to block out the image of Sam drowning before his eyes.

Sam twisted suddenly. "Wait, you're not going to call me a girl or anything?"

"Maybe in a few days, when the shock's worn off. But I would have been scared too, if it had been me. Drowning would not be my first pick of how to die. Much cooler to go down fighting monsters, you know?"

"Like any monster could get you," Sam snorted. Dean allowed himself a quiet chuckle too as he ruffled Sam's damp hair.

"You got that right. But it helps to have a scrawny wingman." They tussled among the covers until a loud grunt made them both jump. However, their dad only rolled over and settled back down. _Close_ _call_, thought Dean. "Okay, enough playing around. Back to bed."

Sam stiffened for a moment. "But…what if I can't sleep? The dream…"

"I can stay next to you until you fall back asleep, if you want. And the Tylenol should help."

"Well…" Sam's thought process was nearly audible. To actually ask for more comfort would be asking to be labeled a girl for at least the next couple weeks (Dean would admit to that). He was twelve, after all. At the same time, this had been one of his worst nightmares in years. As the indecision continued, Dean finally slipped back to his own bed.

"I'm right here, not going anywhere, okay? Keep thinking about that."

Sam nodded, and burrowed back under his covers. Dean still watched him until he knew the kid was once more asleep.


End file.
